


Blood of my Blood (Bone of my Bone)

by maccabird_23



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Outlander, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 14:51:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6333352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maccabird_23/pseuds/maccabird_23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick Kane doesn't know what to make of his soon-to-be husband. Outlander, Sassanach, healer, friend? He just knew that he had to save him. Even if that meant marrying him before the weeks end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Mend and Protect

 

Patrick's hands shook as he sewed the torn wool, legs crossed, sitting on hay and dirt in the stable. This would be the tartan he wore on his wedding day. The one his soon-to-be husband would take off him during their wedding night. They were Kane colors, a plaid of reds and blacks, crossed with dark yellows and greens. If it were a traditional wedding then he would be taking up his husband’s colors, but Jon was without a clan and in dire need of protection. Patrick reasoned that his family's colors, bold and proud, would suit Jon just fine. 

 

They must be married before sundown on Saturday his uncle had told him. If they weren’t, the Garrison Commander would take Jon again. Patrick remembered his own time with Commander Backes, the dead skin across his back stinging at the memory.  This wasn't about him, though, his uncle had reminded. It was about the secrets of the clan, the ones that Jon had become privy to during his time in the company of the Kane’s. If the British got word of another uprising or the Jacobites within the Highlands Pat knew there would be nothing left but scorched Earth where his family and loved ones once called home. 

 

Then there was the private matter of Jonathan Toews. What a strange man Patrick had known for only a handful of weeks. His name was flagrantly Welsh, in a way that made Patrick smile. The British mocked Highlanders for their language, their meanings and rhythm almost as decipherable as the mythology that built their people. Then there was Cymraeg, the Welsh language that felt bold on Pat's tongue and gave any proper Brit a headache. Jonathan didn't know a word of it.

 

It was something that made Patrick's uncles distrustful when they first tried the words on Jon. For his part, Toews looked flustered and guilty, before explaining that he spent his childhood in France and the Americas before moving to England as a young man to seek a career as an apothecary. No wife or children to speak of, just an apprentice who was good with herbs and setting broken bones. 

 

His French was odd and left Patrick with an emotion that felt like a memory. As if he might have heard it before but definitely not from a Frenchman. Through that mistrust, Toews skills at the art of healing made him useful to the Kane Clan. As for Patrick, Jonathan had become something more, a friend. As he dressed his wounds and set his broken arm, Jonathan had never looked at him with pity. He had never laid mournful eyes on the raised skin that marred Patrick's back like so many other men, women, alphas, and omegas had. 

 

Women and omegas looked at the healed lashings with pity and fear, knowing that if something so terrible could happen to the son of a Laird, then this and much worst could happen to them. Men and alphas looked at him with guilt and sorrow. Guilt that they hadn't saved him from the British earlier and sorrow that another thing that belonged to the Highlands deemed beautiful and proud was forever scarred by the British. 

 

Patrick didn't like to consider himself an object to be owned, but he had to concede that belonging to the Highlands and his clan was one of the only things that brought him peace. He would do anything for his people; even marry a sassenach. Though it helped that said outlander was Jon. Jonathan with his strange tongue, odd heritage, and no clan. Jon who would drink too much and then tell him about his adventures in New France, playing a game of sticks and puck chasing on solid ice. It was a game made by the indigenous people of the area and someday he would teach Pat how to play. 

 

Patrick doesn't mind much, getting married to Jon, if he really thought about it. He was kind, with hands that healed things instead of breaking. Patrick will never forget when his uncle brought Jon back after the British had detained him. A swollen eye and split lip marring his strong features, gifts from Commander Backes. It had made Pat's heartache. In that moment, he’d made his choice; Jon wouldn't feel that pain again, wouldn't endure the lashes Pat had received at the hands of the same villain. 

If Jon married into the Kane Clan than the British would have no rule over him. He would no longer belong to them but to the Highlands, like Pat. With less than two days to get the wedding together, everyone had a part to play if they were to succeed. His cousins were put to task, getting Jon proper clothes, two wedding rings, and a priest sober enough to oversee it all. 

As for Patrick, he continued to sew. The cloth was old and in such a state not fit for a Laird’s son. Patrick paid no heed. Like many things in his life, Patrick made do. And for the sake of Jonathan, saving his life, Pat sewed faster. 

 

 


	2. To Bleed and Promise

 

Jonathan felt the quiver in his knees; the tension in his hamstrings firmly planted in leather boots and wet grass. What had he’d gotten himself into? Less than a month ago he had been enjoying his offseason, traveling Europe with his friends, and now he was here.

 

Standing outside a stone-built church in the eighteenth century Scotland, about to get married to a Highlander. Everything that had happened in the last few weeks felt like falling, uncontrollable and dizzying.

 

The strangest part was how familiar the unfamiliar felt. Beside him was Keith, but not really. He was Duncan Kane now, the younger brother of Liard Cameron Kane. His in-game glare now firmly fixed on his face like a mask, worn and tired. Duncs was usually a hard-ass but the man before him had the outlook of someone who’d been through war, and lost more than was conceivable.

 

They were all gathered around, the Kane Clan; in what Jon could only guess was proper wedding attire. His history lessons stopped once he graduated high school, never taking it back up in college. He wished he’d been a better student if only to add context to his surrounding -- dates and events.

 

Another Scottish uprising was close, he could see it on the set of every Highlander but was unsure of the outcome. Would this be the one that decimated their population, which nearly ended their ancient culture? He was unsure.

 

The only thing Jon was certain of was that he needed to get back home, to his own time and life. What must his family and friends think happened to him? That he wandered off, got lost or kidnapped in rural Scotland? What about his teammates and the Blackhawks? Did Wirtz’s already have helicopters and search parties scouring every area of the Highlands?

 

His need to get back to the stones that brought him here was only equal to the guilt he felt in wanting to leave. If there was to be a war than all these people who took him in, protected and fed him would soon be murdered, and brutally. Jon had no idea of how he could help but he knew that if he didn’t then one of these graves might soon belong to Patrick Kane.

 

The young Highlander that now stood before him and what a sight he made. Jon had used what meager skills he’d picked up from the Hawks’ doctors and trainers to set Pat’s broken arm only a month ago. Kept it from getting infected, remembering the concoctions his hippie friends had taught him to make from natural herbs.

 

He’d pretty much seen every part of Patrick’s flesh, which even in his own time wasn’t the norm when it came to casual alpha and omega relationships. Of course, Pat refused to be treated like an omega, taking up a sword and wearing knee-length plaid to make it easier when he fought beside the men and alphas of his clan.

 

He had saved Jon’s life the first time Commander Backes put a knife to his throat, only moments after he’d traveled through the stones, and three weeks after the Blues had eliminated his team from the Conference Finals. He’d never had the best relationship with David but he had to concede that his ancestor was about a thousand times worst.

 

The Patrick that stood in front of him looked naked without his usual sword at his hip. Though he was enveloped in layers of clothing, looking more fragile and fine than Jon could have ever imagined the brash Highlander.

 

His wrists were covered in silk sleeves and his middle in a soft velvet waistcoat. Woolen plaid draping to his ankles and looping around his cinched waist to his shoulders, where it settled around the dip of his clavicles, pinned with a silver broach. A simple strip of white silk was tied around his neck. No, Jonathan could have never imagined Patrick looking more naked than in these delicate clothes.

 

He startled as Pat slipped his hand along Jon’s own, folding his fingers across Jonathan’s knuckles. “I ken that you’re not sure what happens next, but just follow my lead and we might make it out alive.” Patrick’s smile made Jon breathe easier, but it didn’t reach his dimples, and his eyebrows were knitted. He looked just as nervous as Jon felt. Maybe he should have drunk more this morning, and would’ve if Duncs hadn’t taken away the bottle.

 

Jon blinked as they stepped through the church doors. Waning sunlight replaced by torches and candles. Spreading a warming glow across the stone built enclave and wooden pews where the rest of the Kane Clan sat. The priest stood, clutching his leather-bound bible at the altar. Just behind the cloaked man was a cross, tall and carved from simple wood. Jon panicked anew.   
  
He must have tightened his hold on Patrick's hand as they walked, the blond letting out the quietest of squeaks. “We’re getting married." He wasn't sure if he was questioning or stating what was about to occur, but it had finally become a reality, as solid as the wooden floor they walked across.

 

Patrick paused the slightest before continuing their descent down the aisle, leaning into Jon, sharing his warmth like the burning torches could not. “Dinna worry yourself, Sassenach. God himself must ken this binding was your only option.” Jon cringed at the nickname. More than fifteen years of playing hockey, he’d heard every variation of his namesake on many different tongues. But none had more resonance than the one Patrick used so lightly.

 

Halting in front of the priest, Jon turned, facing Patrick. Shadows and light played across his fine-boned face, and Jonny had that slight pang of recognition again. It felt like a memory, but disappeared as quick as it came and Jon was again left with the man he had only known for a month. “Why are you doing this? I might’ve not had a choice. But you certainly must’ve?”

 

Patrick turned his head quickly, bowing his head slightly to the priest before laying his eyes back on Jon’s. “I made my choice a long time ago, Jon. I choose to protect the people I love when I can. Take my hands.” Patrick unfolded his hands, palms exposed to Jon as if he were begging, asking and offering him something so intangible that he could barely grasp it. But Jon did. He took up the offered hands into his own, enveloping the thin bones with his own.

 

The priest cleared his throat, opening his yellowing bible to a page he bookmarked with his finger. “Let us begin, then.” The vows were traditional and close enough to the words that Jon had heard at so many weddings that he was almost able to repeat them verbatim. It gave him a moment to think about Patrick’s words.

 

What had the Highlander meant? He wasn’t the type to be vague, always stating what he meant, felt and needed. But he couldn’t love Jonny. They had only known each other for a handful of weeks. Maybe Jon’s mind was filling in the gaps wrong, wanting in some way for this to feel like an actual marriage between two people who loved each other.

 

Jon was presented with two rings, silver and thick but barren of any design. It would be peculiar if he didn’t know they were melded in the last few days. Like his borrowed clothes, none of this was chosen or designed out of love but of necessity. He slipped one ring on Pat’s offered finger, before sliding the other on his own.

 

What Patrick loved was his clan, and Jon knew the binding would protect them. Keep whatever secrets Jon had learned away from the English. Even though he would sooner suffer another beating at the hands of Backes than give away what he knew about the Jacobites. Jon felt his chest swell with fear, overwhelmed at his own protectiveness. But he’d sooner see his own blood spill before he let Patrick and his kin get hurt.

 

He watched, almost in slow motion as Duncan leaned over and took Patrick’s wrist, slicing it with his dirk. A neat, vertical line that spilled crimson. Then he grasped Jon’s. He felt the urge to fight, and for a beat struggled before surrendering his hand to the Highlander. It looked worse than it felt. The blade was cold but warm from Patrick’s blood.

 

Pat’s touch was much softer, more tentative as he held his wrist to Jon’s. He rested his own wrist against the open wound, putting pressure as if he could stop the bleeding. But Jon didn’t pull away as his blood stained Patrick’s flesh and white sleeve. As Pat’s blood stained his. A soft strip of cotton was folded and tied around their wrists, binding them together for eternity.

 

Jon’s gaze moved from their binding to Pat’s face. There was a weary smile creeping along his mouth. “Say these words after me.” The language still felt clumsy on Jon’s tongue, though he had heard it enough during his stay. The meaning unknowable as the time they were practiced. The vows and promises he gave to Patrick he couldn’t fully grasp but gave them with earnest.

 

“You may kiss your omega.” The priest gave Jon a look, eyebrows raised. This was the moment every alpha waited for when he could finally claim his chosen omega. It felt disconcerting, but a heat burned in his stomach. Jon had to laugh at his own nature; even under duress, his alpha instincts saw the opportunity for what it was.

 

_It doesn’t bother me that you’re not a virgin. At least one of us should know what we are doing._

Patrick had told him bluntly two days before, walking off in a huff. The urge to follow the untouched omega, to lie hands him, Jon blamed solely on his alpha nature. But today, leaning down to meet Patrick’s mouth, he knew it was all him. It was his choice.

 

His mouth was soft and dry, moving against Jon’s, chaste but searching. The heat of his open mouth inviting and submissive, something Jon had never expected from the omega. Prompting him to deepen the kiss but before he could Pat leaned his head back, halting Jon’s descent, before planting a final peck on his open mouth.

 

“That was a mighty first kiss, Sassenach but you should save some of that for the wedding night,” Patrick smirked at him, and Jon let out a breath he’d been holding. Everything seemed to come back to him in clear focus. His hand still tied to Pat’s, their blood now clotting together. His mouth felt raw, and his lungs burned along with the growing heat in his groin.

 

He smiled at the young Highlander, uncontrollably and dizzying, like he was falling. He might not have known the promises he gave to Patrick during their vows, but God help him, Jon knew he meant them.

 

 


	3. To Love and Respect

 

 

Patrick was on his second glass, sitting in the main hall, his uncle to one side and Jon to his other. Jonathan was way ahead of him, might have drunk more than everyone at the table. His clan and other families under their protection sat at the tables in front of them. It was strangely quiet and subdued for a wedding festival but Pat did not expect anything grand.

 

When Highlanders celebrated the heavens could hear their happiness but this wasn’t a day for joy. There was no pretense to Patrick and Jonathan’s wedding. He looked at his bulky ring, barren of any design or personal touch. It had been made from his mother’s locket, a memento that he had treasured dearly but a sacrifice that was needed.

 

He turned as his uncle; Laird Cameron Kane tapped his cup slowly. Weary eyes turned at the noise and Pat could feel Jonny’s questioning look beside him. He hushed him before he could ask, nodding to his uncle respectfully. The older man stood, turning to Pat and Jonny.

 

“There is a tale that I wish to tell.” Laird Kane raised his cup to the crowd of sitting guest, smiling softly. “You may know this story but Jonathan has yet to hear of our history. The proud tales of the Kane Clan.”

 

Patrick felt something ugly turn in his gut. He knew where this was going and he grimaced slightly, not wanting to outwardly show his discomfort. It would worry Jonny, who seemed apt at deciphering Patrick’s emotion like his face was a map. Pinpointing all the landmarks with startling clarity. Also, he did not want to anger his uncle as he spoke so grandly.

 

“My older brother, Patrick Sr. fell in love with a women only months before we were to go off to war. She was a beautiful lass but a stranger to us and we were weary of her. But he would hear no reason.” He laughed, forced and the crowd responded in kind, just as strained. He turned to Jonathan. “Does this tale sound familiar, lad?”

 

Patrick felt his face grow red, heart beating as memories filled his head. He tried to shake them off but they clouded his senses like a dense fog. He didn’t want to hear this story anymore but his uncle continued. “He married her within the month, filling her with child and making her Lady of the Kane Clan.”

 

He felt his hands shaking, and hid them under the table before anyone could notice but he was not sly enough. Another hand, large and rough entwined with his own, stroking his knuckles and calming him slightly. He looked up at his uncle, Duncan. Giving him a thankful smile, Duncan returned it with a toothless grin.

 

“But the war was coming closer to home, putting everyone in more danger.” The Laird continued, waving his hands and spilling his wine. Patrick watched the deep red liquid as it slowly spilled across the table. “Fearing for the life of his wife and child he sent them away. He never told us where, maybe to France but maybe to the Americas.” There was a murmur stretching across the room, gasps and whispers.

 

They all knew the story but it was still uncommon: to send your pregnant wife away. Highlanders were a proud people; they lived for each other and died for each other. Sending Patrick and his mother away meant that his father did not believe in their cause. He doomed their clan before the battle had even started. Patrick being a living symbol of his cowardice.

 

“Patrick died in that battle. The British ruthlessly massacring hundreds of proud Highlanders: man, woman and child.” Laird Cameron turned his glass to Patrick, brandishing it like a weapon, or worse, an accusation. “Then his Lady came back. Not a month or a year later but five years after that fateful day. She arrived with nothing but a bairn in her hands. She said he was Patrick’s son.”

 

There were a few laughs scattered across the room, cruel and probably coming from twisted mouths but they were not abundant. Patrick took solace as others quickly shushed those disparaging laughs. Patrick’s paternity had always been a question but not for his lack of appearance. Duncan told him that he was the spitting image of his father.

 

His paternity was only put on trial by his uncle, Laird Cameron Kane because Patrick’s existence made him the rightful Laird of the Kane Clan. Their people did not need the strife that came with battling rules, especially when one was a practical stranger. When Patrick presented as an omega they all breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“We took them in because they were family because Highlanders do not turn their backs on kin. We do not betray their trust and we do not send them away.” Patrick flinched as his uncle slammed his fist against the table and the crowd of family and friends cheered, banging their fists along with their Laird.

 

The Laird turned his cup to Jonathan, and Patrick could feel him stiffen next to him. He had not looked at his mate through his uncle’s entire speech, weary of what emotions he would see, afraid to give away too many of his own. He felt Jonathan take his other hand and sighed softly at the reassurance.

 

“Let that be a lesson to you, lad. I gave Patrick to you and it is now your duty to honor such a gift. You’re a Kane now and you will drink with us, fight with us and die with us. You are now the blood of my blood, bone of my bone.” The room roared to live, men and alphas standing, cheering as Laird Kane took a final drink from his cup. Sitting down as the room started to quiet.

 

Patrick tried to swallow against the lump in his throat, his stomach knotting and revolting as he took a drink of his own wine. It tasted sour on his tongue, and his eyes stung with tears. He closed them, feeling the wetness against his cheeks, willing back his emotions. He startled at the sound of another tap, turning to Jonny as the older man stood. If he could stop him he would have but he’d already gotten the attention of the room, of Patrick’s uncle.

 

“I’d like to thank my uncle-in-law for such a grand speech.” Patrick stared at Jon in horror. What did he think he was doing? They could have gotten through this without much fanfare, sneaking to their room without an eye on them. “What a wonderful tale he weaved and I thank him for such a gift. For taking care of Patrick and treating him like the son of a Laird should be treated.”

 

Patrick watched emotions play across his uncle’s face, a stony smile turning to a grim frown. His lips tightened into a gray line, teeth grinding behind the thin flesh. “I’m sure your brother is looking down from the heavens, grateful that you allowed his only son, an omega to sleep in your magnificent stables. Sleeping on a bed of golden hay, next to your noble steeds.” Jonathan spit out the words like he was ridding his tongue of poison.

 

The room was hushed, Jonathan’s words bouncing off the walls, attacking its listeners with their spite. Patrick couldn’t bear to look at the mangled anger twisted across his uncle’s face, instead looking at his family and friends. No one met his eyes, guilt lining every hung head and slumped shoulder.

 

“As one alpha to another, I promise you that I will care for Patrick the way he deserves, with respect and love.” Jonathan raised his cup to Laird Kane, waiting until the man returned the gesture, and his uncle was too proud not to. “And rest assured that the fateful day that my alliances are tested that I will fight for this clan. Fight for the people my mate loves. The people he endured fifty lashes for, his back a testament to that love.”

 

Patrick felt his back sting at the memory, but he sat a little straighter as he heard scatted cheers from his clan, his friends and family raising their cups to Jonathan, to him. Against him he felt Duncan rise to his feet, bringing Patrick with him by the hand that was still linked to his own. Without hesitating, Duncan raised his cup.

 

“Here’s tae ye! Patrick and his alpha, Jonathan.” Patrick waited for a beat, raising his cup only after his Laird stood, mirroring his brother. The crowd followed suit, cup raised to the heaven, drinking and Patrick drained his cup. The wine going down with ease, like water flowing down a stream. The taste was sweet in his mouth.

 

As they sat back down Patrick could feel his uncle's glare burning a hole through his shoulder, as he started to quietly argue with Duncan. The crowd was growing rowdy, not noticing the discord at the head table. Patrick leaned over, meeting Jonathan’s eyes, a smile playing coyly across his mouth.

 

Jonathan raised an eyebrow, returning Pat’s smile. “I ken it's time that we make our exit. Before my uncle guts you with his freshly sharpened dirk.” Jonathan’s eyes widened and Pat took the moment to herd him away from the table. Taking him by the hand he led him up the stairs, ascending to one of the private chambers. Sadly, he was not quick enough to not catch anyone’s eyes.

 

“Make sure to treat him well, lad. The last man he had between his legs was during an ambush off the east river, and he used his thighs to break his neck.” Patrick sighed as his cousins cheered from their table way in the back. He’d put them there for a reason. Whoops and hurrahs followed with jubilation, spirits being raised as they goaded each other on. “He might be a virgin but he definitely knows how to make a man scream.”

 

Patrick rushed for the door, tightening his hold on Jonny’s hand. “Should I be worried, Patrick?” Jonathan questioned behind a smirk, a laugh bubbling in his chest. He didn’t answer, opening and pushing Jon through the door before slamming it closed behind them.

 

“You dinnae worry, Sassenach. I’ll only break a rib, maybe two if you cannae make me neigh like a mare when a stallion mounts them.” Patrick watched as Jon’s jaw dropped, eyes disbelieving. Pat saw it as his opening, bull rushing Jon, throwing his weight against the bigger man.

 

He wrapped his arms around Jon’s neck, leaning up and into a ravishing kiss. He opened his mouth to the attack, feeling Jon’s lips and tongue playing against his own, searching his mouth. He threw a leg over Jonathan’s hip, bringing him impossibly closer. Maybe it was the drink that was making him giddy, but more likely it was Jonathan.

 

His alpha pheromones and protective hold doing things to him that he couldn’t put into words. He promised to love and respect him, made it in front of the entire clan. “You dinnae have to do that. Stand up to my uncle like that.” He whispered it against Jon’s neck, nosing at the soft stretch of skin. He almost hoped his words were too quiet, that Jon wouldn’t hear them.

 

He did. Jonathan tightened his hold around Patrick’s waist, grabbing his ass, and lifting him off the ground. Pat wrapped his other leg around Jon, resting his twined legs across his sturdy back. “It’s what you deserve: someone who would stand beside you.”

 

Patrick met his dark gaze, eyes heavy with something indecipherable. There was something so familiar about those eyes, and Patrick felt it deep in his gut. He shook his head, banishing the memory, burying it deep. He let his wedding ring press into the flesh at the back of Jon’s neck, a small part of him hoping that it left a mark, his mark. “Then I’m glad it's you who stands beside me.”

 

 


	4. To Undress and Mate

 

 

Jonathan froze, trying to process the sight that was laid out before him. He wasn’t really sure how they got into this position, or more specifically why Patrick was in this position. On his hands and knees, facing away from Jon on the bed, plaids and shift bunched against his waist.

There was a heat growing in stomach, dick stiffening in his breeches. What they said about Scotts was true; they literally wore nothing under all that plaid. Jon swallowed against the lump growing in his throat, eyes eating in the image of Pat’s bare buttocks.

Pat presenting himself for Jon’s appraisal, back straight and ass high in the air, round, firm and so pale. His alpha was urging him on, telling him to posses his omega like he’d never been taken before. Jon tempered his primal instinct, closing his eyes against the image. Trying to find his inner calm, all those years of breathing exercises finally paying off.

“Well, cannae get it up or not, Jon?” His eyes flew open at Patrick’s question, watching as the blond wiggled his ass invitingly for Jon. “Imma not doing it right?” Patrick let out a frustrated sigh, spreading his thighs further, giving Jon a peak of what awaited him.

It was too much for Jon. He growled deep in his chest, taking three strides forward until he was at the edge of the bed. He spread his palms across Patrick’s thighs and ass, fingers groping the round flesh, and thumbs stroking the warm curve that led to his most private parts.

He froze as Patrick yelped, startled and Jon had to take a step back, examine what he was doing. He shook his head, realizing this wasn’t him. He wasn’t some animal that took what he wanted, alpha instinct overriding his common sense. “Get off the bed, Patrick. We can’t do this like animals.”

Patrick seemed to hesitate for a beat, rocking back and forth before turning, legs flailing as he pushed himself off the bed. Jon offered a hand but he batted it away, standing next to Jon in the middle of the room. Pat was red from ears to neck, the blush disappearing down his neckline. “How else are we suppose to do it then?”

There was no heat to his words, the question timid and settling in the space between Patrick and Jon like a heavy weight. Jon didn’t really know how to answer. Describing sex to someone who’d never had it felt dirty, like he was pushing his own fantasies on someone else. Instead he asked Patrick what he wanted. What he thought his first time should be like?

Pat scrunched his nose, staring up at Jon bewildered. When Jon refused to be prompted, he sighed, shoulders falling with a huff. “I dinnae ken, Jon. I guess like the horses when they rut. With you mounting me from behind and putting your thing between my legs,”

Jon couldn’t help it, letting out an uncontrollable laugh at Patrick’s expense. Patrick glared at him, whacking him across the shoulder. Jonathan caught the hand in his own grip, bringing it to his mouth, and laying a tender kiss against Pat’s palm. “Maybe we could start by taking off our clothes first. I’d really like do see my omega on our wedding night.”

Pat’s blush grew deeper, fingers scrambling at the piece of silk wrapped around his neck. He dropped it to the floor before starting on the buttons of his waistcoat. Jon stopped him, asking if he could undress him. Pat’s hands fell to his side, head tilting as he watched Jon. “I’m all yours, Sassenach.”

Jon set shaky fingers to work, unbuttoning the silver clasps that held Pat’s deep red, velvet waistcoat together. He tried to push the tight fabric off Pat’s shoulders but it became tangled in the fabric around his neck. He didn’t understand why traditional Scottish clothing had to be so confusing.

Patrick smiled at Jon’s clumsy fingers, showing mercy on him and unclipping his silver broach. The fabric fell away, dropping against Patrick’s waist, freeing the waistcoat from his shoulders. Jon assisted, turning Patrick and pulling the velvet from his arms and back, dropping it to the floor.

Jon stared confused at the next piece of clothing, a vest-like cotton corset, boned at the sides and laced tight at the back. “It’s a stay, Jon. Have you never undressed an omega?” Jonny didn’t answer, working at the laces along Pat’s spine. Patrick didn’t seem to mind.

He loosened the laces, pulling them free from tiny holes, Pat breathing easier as the cloth was eased from his back. Patrick pulled the stay off his front, throwing it across the room. “That thing was made by the Devil himself, I swear.”

Jonny smiled against his neck, pressing a kiss along the heated skin. “I never want to see that thing on you again. These omega clothes are too confusing.” Jon felt a giggle rising from Pat’s chest as he untied the silk sleeves from his shoulders. Pulling them off Pat’s wrist, Jon sighed. “Why are you wearing shorter sleeves under longer sleeves? Why does anyone need to wear two pairs of sleeves?”

Patrick turned, a sly smile playing across his lips. “You dinnae think you’d have to work for it?” Jon’s eyes roamed Patrick’s body. He’d spent the last twenty minutes taking off four layers of clothing and Patrick was no more naked than he was twenty minutes ago.

“No offense, Pat but I could throw you in a pile of snow right now and you wouldn’t even catch a cold.” Patrick opened his mouth to respond but Jonny didn’t let him. He pressed his mouth to Pat’s lips, teeth and tongue claiming what was his. His fingers untied the plaid at Patrick’s waist, the cloth coming off with more ease than the other clothing.

It fell to the floor with a soft thud, and Patrick stepped out of it, bringing him closer to Jon. He stood in front of him now in nothing but a long, white shift. It was almost transparent in the light the fireplace cast. He could trace every contour and swell of muscle with his eyes, Pat’s nipples hard and pink under the cotton.

Jonathan reached out, caressing Patrick’s collarbone, stroking his hand down the fabric until he could feel Pat’s pebbled nipple against the pads of his fingers. He felt Pat shiver and gasp at the touch. He rubbed at the flesh harder, wanting to illicit that sound from his soft lips forever.

“It’s my turn now,” Patrick commanded, brushing Jon’s finger from his chest. He didn’t waste any time, taking Jon by the belt and sliding it from his waist in one motion. There was friction left in the air from where leather rubbed against cloth. It tingles and gave Jon gooseflesh.

Patrick unbuttoned his waistcoat, pushing it off his shoulders with more ease than Patrick’s had come off. Jonny helped, pulling the velvet from his body. Patrick untied his plaid, pushing it from his waist, and leaving Jon in only his long undershirt and breeches. He watched, Pat biting at his bottom lip before falling to his knees. 

 Jon gasped softly, meeting Patrick’s blue eyes as the blond untied his breeches, stretching the leather and working them down Jon’s hips. He toed them off, kicking them near the bed before turning his gaze back to Patrick. The omega’s eyes were busy else where, examining Jon’s nether regions with heated cheeks and a bitten mouth. He looked almost caution. 

Jonathan wasn’t the biggest man but he knew his girth was thicker than most, maybe the same circumference as his wrist. When Patrick had his fill he stood, eyes roaming the rest of his body, walking around Jon and pressing his chest to Jon’s back. His arms slipped around his waist. Jonathan moaned as Pat’s fingers played along his belly, skimming lower to his groin and thighs. Jon moaned at the touch.

Jonny thrust his hips forward, trying to find pleasure in Pat’s grip. He groaned as the heat of Pat’s back and fingers left his body, leaving him cold and on edge. He watched through a haze of red as Patrick walked back to the bed, freeing himself of his shift as he went.

Jonny felt a hitch in his chest, a fire burning like coals in his abdomen as Pat laid down for him. He settled on his back and elbows, the fire caressing his skin in hues of red and pink. He wore only stockings, white as snow and tied to his upper thighs with black silk. He spread himself for Jon, knees high in the air and toes curling around the sheets. “Is this more to your likin, alpha?”

Jonny didn’t bother to answer, a growl set deep in his chest as he rushed the bed. The mattress giving under his weight, he pulled at Patrick’s thighs until they were wrapped around his back. Patrick pushed back, kneeing at his undershirt until it was bunched at his waist.

He bent down, capturing Patrick’s mouth in a heated kiss, bruising his already pink mouth with bites and sucks. Patrick’s fingers found the flesh under his shirt, raking nails up his back, and Jon could feel the sting of pleasure-pain. His mouth traveled down Pat’s neck, laving it with soft kisses, feeling the tender flesh under his tongue.

He paid special attention to Pat’s right nipple, the one he had touched before, planting an open mouth kiss on the pink nub. Then he sucked it into his mouth, rolling the flesh against his tongue. He couldn’t resist taking a gentle bite, wanting to eat every part of Patrick. The blond let out a broken whimper, tightening his knees around Jon, and bringing his hand down to the back of his neck.

Pat pulled and pushed until Jon’s mouth captured the other nipple in his mouth, causing the omega to screech, thrusting his hips up to meet Jon’s stiffening cock. It was at that moment, his mate’s howls ghosting at his ear and hips rutting against his own that Jon lost control. Let his alpha take over.

With one hand he pulled at Patrick’s curls, exposing the long stretch of pale neck to Jon’s mouth and teeth. He bit down, not caring if he was gentle. Patrick cried out in pleasure and pain, scratching at his alpha’s back. Jonny reached with his other hand, thrusting it between their sweating bodies and finding Patrick’s hard cock.

He took both of them in his wide hand, stroking their lengths as pre-cum spilled across his fingers. He moaned into Patrick’s mouth, finding some semblance of relief, his mate keeping him on edge since they entered the room.

It wasn’t enough, though. His alpha needed more. Jon stroked further down until his fingers felt something wet and hot. He didn’t waste time, crooking his fingers until that tight heat enveloped them. He thrust two fingers in and out of Patrick without reprieve; his omega’s whimpers spurring him further.

‘

He rubbed the pads of his fingers inside Patrick, feeling his walls tighten, squelch and shudder around his digits. Pat beat his hips in an unforgiving rhythm, ass hitting the bed hard on each pull and groin slapping against Jon’s thighs with each push. “Put it in. Put it in.” Patrick cried out like a mantra into Jon’s ear, voice raw, almost broken.

Jonathan growled, taking another bite out of Patrick’s neck. He took hold, hand gripping his own cock as he guided it between Patrick’s thighs, thrusting inside in one long motion. Patrick keened, head thrown back, throat working around each sound. Jonny didn’t understand him anymore, Scottish taking over his every word.

He felt his groin slap against Patrick’s ass, knew he could get no farther inside the blond but he thrust deeper, moaning as the tight heat surrounded him. He grabbed at Patrick’s thighs, pressing them against his chest, and finding a brutal tempo.

Their flesh slapped together, pain giving way to pleasure with each deep thrust. The sound echoing against the walls along with Patrick’s sobs and Jonny’s growls, joining together like an obscene chorus of song.

He could feel Patrick soak the sheets, marking Jonny with his scent and fluids. Jonny returned the favor with his teeth, bruising every exposed piece of flesh in his reach. He felt Pat shudder and tighten around him, knees and thighs squeezing so tightly that Jonny whole-heartedly believed that they could kill a man.

He reached down, taking Patrick in hand, stroking his soaked cock in a tight grip. He was close and so was Jonny. He thrust four, five more times into Pat, coming inside his omega with a guttural moan. Jon felt Patrick shake, walls spasm around him as he stroked the blond to completion. He watched, mesmerized as Patrick’s cum spilled across his stomach and Jon’s hand.

Jonny stroked Pat’s flanks until he came back to himself, blue eyes blinking open almost confused. Jon smiled at his omega as he caught his breath, wiping tears from his eyes, skin warm to the touch. He tried to pull out but Patrick stopped him, hand gripping Jon’s wrist. “Dinnae think about it, Sassenach. It’s tradition. You have to stay in me all night.”

Jonny thought back, remembering his biology class and how pre-historic alphas had knots. Some cultures still believed that an alpha should stay in his omega the same duration it took for a knot shrink. Apparently eighteenth century Highlanders had the same tradition. Jonny found it odd but refused to deny Patrick the small request.

He settled them on their sides, pressing his chest to Patrick’s back, before covering them both with blankets. He nosed at the hairs and sweat smelling skin he found there. Lips kissing at one of the many marks he left. “I dinnae ken if I’ll be able to walk straight in the morn.”

Patrick sounded too pleased at the realization for Jonny to worry that he caused any real damage. Instead, he laid another kiss on a bruise he’d left on Patrick’s shoulder. “Then I’ll carry you wherever you have to go. Rub salve on every bruise I left. Message every muscle I strained. Then tomorrow night I’ll do it all over again.”

Jonny heard a pleased sigh leave Patrick’s mouth, the blond melting into his back as he fell asleep. It didn’t take long for Jonny to follow him. Feeling more at ease in that moment than he’d felt since coming through the stones on that fateful day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. To Betray and Save

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The possessive hand that found its way to the curve of his neck wasn’t a surprise. His body was Jonny’s, along with his heart and soul but his alpha deserved better than what Pat could give him, a roll in the sheets followed by a knife in the back. “I dinnae think that anyone would ever be able to look at me the way you do. Without guilt or disgust in their eyes.” Patrick felt tears well up, closed his eyes so they could soak in his lashes. He didn’t want to mourn his mate when his touch was still warm.

 

 

His mother’s dress was blue and soft, draping to her ankles. Patrick clutched tightly to her skirt with tiny fingers. The stone was large and looming before them. He was too afraid to touch its mossy surface but his mother forced his hand flat against the wet rock.

 

_Don’t be afraid, Patrick._

 

Then the wind picked up and he felt like he was on a rollercoaster, being swung side-to-side and finally falling from a great height. He’d resisted at first, pulling back as he was pushed down but his mother held him tighter.

 

_Let go, honey. I’ve got you. I won’t let go._

 

He let himself fall, hurtling without end into the unknown but his mother wasn’t there anymore. She’d disappeared and in her place, cold hand clutched at his back. Cold turned to stinging and Commander Backes’ cruel face smiled at him in the dark.

 

_I’ve got you, now._

 

Patrick woke, gasping and shaking, looking around the dark room. His fingers stretched out, searching for purchase and found naked flesh. He panicked for a moment, still dizzy until he remembered the day before. He was married now, bonded to Jonathan Toews. He could still feel him, like a phantom between his thighs, a pleasant ache within his depths.

 

He couldn’t see much, the flames from the hearth going out long ago, it made him shiver in the dark, sweat from his nightmare drying cold on his skin. He took long, deep breaths, letting his fingers play along the muscles of Jonathan's stomach, the feel of familiar bumps and ridges calming under his fingertips.

 

The flesh brought images, flooding Patrick’s head from the night before. He never thought he’d get married and never thought he’d enjoy his husband between his thighs as much as he did. He felt himself stiffening at the memory but paused his quiet ministrations, not wanting to wake Jonny. For the moment, his need for sustenance outweighing his want for his mate.

 

He slipped out from underneath the blankets, tiptoeing across room and toeing at the clothes on the floor until he felt buttons under his foot. He bent, picking up the discarded fabric and pulling it over his head, letting the cotton settle against his thighs. It was too long at the bottom to be his own and smelled distinctly like Jonny.

 

It felt strange and oddly comforting to be covered in his mate’s scent, an intangible safety wrapping around him. Pat silently closed the door behind him, not wanting to wake Jonny. The sight that greeted him as he descended the stairs made Pat smile into the darkness. His cousins were the only ones left, laid out, loudly snoozing in different states of drunkenness on the wooden furniture in the great hall, some even fast asleep on the floor.

 

He pillaged the tables, taking whatever ale, cheese, bread and fruits were left. It was slim pickings but he gathered his small bounty in his arms, shoving a honeyed nut in his mouth, savoring the sweet treat. He paused only a foot from the stairs, noticing a small bottle of wine that Jonny had taken a particular liking to. He reached out his hand, thinking about Jonathan’s talented mouth wrapped around the lip of the bottle.

 

He startled as a hand grabbed his wrist, not so gently pulling him forward, causing him to drop all the food on the floor and table. He met the eyes of his uncle, Laird Kane. There was a shadow of something ugly playing across his face as he turned Pat’s hand in his own, examining the bruises Jonny left like a farmer would inspect the swollen hip of a freshly bred heifer, with great annoyance and disgust.

 

Pat stalled, wanting to flinch away from the angry gaze but not wanting to upset his uncle further. He swallowed down the bile that collected in his throat, remembering that Cameron might be his Laird but he no longer belonged to him. Jonny was his alpha, and now was the only man who had the right to touch him. With that thought in mind, he pulled his hand out of his uncle’s grip.

 

His uncle smirked, long and sneering, standing and pushing Patrick against the stair railing until he was trapped between the two. Laird Cameron pressed a prodding hand against Pat’s stomach. “Well, aren’t we all high and mighty now. Do you really think that stranger can protect you and whatever bairn he spawns in your belly?”

 

A shiver of anger and worry ran along his back, gooseflesh raising the hair at his neck but he didn’t let it show. Patrick wouldn’t let his uncle have the satisfaction. He met his uncle’s fierce ire. “Jonny would die for me or dinnae believe the words he told you just a few hours ago.”

 

His uncle only laughed, pulling away just enough and ruffling Patrick’s hair like he was a child before sitting back at the table. “Well, Patty, that was the plan.” At Patrick’s confused look his uncle laughed harder, picking up a discarded flask and taking a sip. “Did you really think that marrying you would protect Jonathan from the English?”

 

Patrick sputtered for a second, shaking his head as fear settled in his gut. “Why would it not? Its English law: they cannae interrogate a Scottish clansman unless he did something illegal against the English thrown.”

 

The laird smirked up at Pat. “You are a very naive lad, Patty. The English couldn’t give two shits about what laws they break, so long as they can keep us under their booted foot. Come morn they will take your Jonny. Interrogate and torture him until they are satisfied.”

Patrick felt sick to his stomach, what food he’d eaten turning in his belly, something rising in his throat. He wanted to believe his uncle was lying, trying to stomp down whatever independence Pat had gained from being bonded but part of him knew that such a lie wouldn’t hold up in the long run. No, it had to be true.

 

“Then why did you make me marry him, uncle? Let me lie with him and possibly seed his child if you knew the English would still take him?” Patrick fell to his knees, a wail trying to escape him but getting stuck somewhere deep in his diaphragm. He clutched at his chest like he’d been stabbed, betrayed by his own blood.

 

His uncle walked towards him and cupped the back of his head with fake gentleness, bringing his face to rest against his thigh as he stroked Patrick’s hair like he was a bairn. “Once he was bonded to you there was no way he’d ever betray any of our secrets. Any plans of rebellion he overheard and clans he saw give money to the Jacobite cause will die with him because an Alpha would sooner suffer the most gruesome of deaths rather than risk harm coming to his omega.”

 

Laird Cameron pulled him up by the shoulders, maneuvering him until Pat faced the stairs, whispering at his back. “Now go back to your alpha but mark me, child, if you try to run and save him then you put the lives of your entire clan in jeopardy. We promised the English that Jonathan wouldn’t leave our estate. If he’s gone by morn there is no telling what they would do. Children, women, omegas; their blood would be on your hands.”

 

Like strings were pulling at him, Patrick walked up the stairs, ashen, trepidation churning in his gut. Once the door was closed behind him he wasted no time, climbing on the bed and waking Jonny. It took a moment but his alpha started to stir at being shook awake.

 

He couldn’t see Jonny in the darkness, but felt a warm hand come up to cup his face. It lazily dragged along his cheek and down his neck, resting just above his heart. Patrick could have cried, he opened his mouth, wanting to tell Jonathan what was going to happen in a few short hours but nothing came out.

 

Patrick had only known one family and he promised to protect them at all cost but Jonathan was now his family, too. What was he to do? Was the life of his alpha worth more than the many lives of his friends and family? Damn his uncle for making him choose. For using both of them in his schemes and plans.

 

“Patrick? What’s wrong?” And damn Jonny for knowing him so well in such a short span of time. He could not bear to hold him, to have his alpha touch him. He didn’t deserve that kindness or love. He moved off the bed, going to the hearth, back turned from Jonny and let out a silent cry.

 

Not wanting to face his husband yet, he got to work building a fire. The room had grown cold. He cleared the ash and stacked the wood, kindling the fire. Once lit, he stood back, watching the flames consume the shadows. It still wasn’t enough to warm the cold that settled in his chest. He leaned against the table, hands gripping that wooden edges, back bent and facing away from Jonny.

 

The possessive hand that found its way to the curve of his neck wasn’t a surprise. His body was Jonny’s, along with his heart and soul but his alpha deserved better than what Pat could give him, a roll in the sheets followed by a knife in the back. “I dinnae think that anyone would ever be able to look at me the way you do. Without guilt or disgust in their eyes.” Patrick felt tears well up, closed his eyes so they could soak in his lashes. He didn’t want to mourn his mate when his touch was still warm.

 

Patrick felt a ghost of a whisper playing at his nape then lips against his ear. “How could I look at you with anything but admiration?” Jonny kissed at the bony, sensitive skin just behind his ear and Pat let out a cry. The words hit like a punch, mixed with the pleasure Jonny brought him. “You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

 

Jon pulled at his shirt until it was off his body and then there was nothing, no touches or kisses. Pat knew Jonny was staring at his back, lit by the fire. He had seen it before when he treated Pat’s broken arm but never like this. Not through the eyes of an alpha mate. Pat started to worry that the lashes disgusted him until he felt a wet heat crawl along his back.

 

He gasped. Jonny was kissing his naked back, soothing the lashed, dead skin with his mouth. Patrick didn’t have many nerve endings left but Jonny set the flesh on fire with his ministrations. He heard Jonny drop to his knees behind him, his mouth moving lower along with his hands until they both met at the dip of his ass. Patrick choked on a moan, surprised when Jonathan’s tongue went even lower, deeper.

 

” Sassanach, what are you doing to me?” Patrick whimpered, leaking slick as Jonathan’s tongue delved between his cheeks. His whole body shook in need as the tongue invaded him, working him over from the inside. He bent himself in half, laying his chest on the table and spreading his legs like a wanton whore. He cried out in protest when Jon’s mouth left him, thighs and ass wet with spit and slick.

 

“I really didn’t want to introduce rimming to our sex life until you had a little more experience but I couldn’t help it.” Jonathan kissed one cheek then the other, spreading Patrick between his hands before kissing him right where he dripped for his alpha. Patrick screamed. “You’re just too beautiful and I needed to worship you like this.”

 

Patrick felt his tears stain the table as he cried into the wooden surface, pleasure, anger, and fear making him a mess of emotions. He didn’t deserve this affection but he ate it up, needing more; needing his alpha. “Please, Jonny. Now, I need it. I need you inside of me. Take me. Please, take me.”

 

Jonathan didn’t waste any time, getting up on unsteady legs, and pressing himself against Patrick’s back. One hand skimmed along his hip, snaking between his thighs and taking a firm hold of his hard cock. The other hand pressed the flared head of Jonathan’s cock into Patrick’s wet hole. With one unforgiving thrust, Jon was sheathed in his omega.

 

The pace he set wasn’t gentle and Patrick didn’t need it. He needed, yearned for Jonathan to mark him, leave something inside of him that would never disappear. Pat pushed back, meeting Jon’s thrust and keening at the sensations their bodies made together.

 

Jonny’s hand stroked him the entire time, the other roaming up his body, playing with his nipples. He took one then the other between thumb and forefinger, gently twisting the nubs, scratching them with a blunt nail. Patrick sobbed in pleasure-pain, his own hands leaving the table to grip at Jon’s thighs as they slapped against his flesh. He squeezed at the muscles, snaking his fingers to the back of Jonny’s thighs, urging him forward, needing him to go faster, more brutal.

 

Jonny was the first to go, gripping Pat’s hips and pulling him into his last, savage thrust before coming in his omega’s tight body. Not pulling out, Jonathan jerked Patrick off. It didn’t take long but once his body was wrung of its orgasm Patrick fell in a heap on the table, Jonny’s body pressed against his back.

 

Jonathan cupped his jaw and Patrick turned, meeting his mouth in a tender kiss. They separated only for air before locking lips, tongue, and teeth again. Only after they were both properly sated did Jonathan pick him up -- Patrick didn’t even protest he was so bone tired -- depositing them both on the bed.

 

Pat let himself be held, giving into Jonathan’s need for touch, not wanting to disturb him with his own warring mind. He watched his alpha as he fell into an easy sleep, knowing that such a luxury wouldn’t come for him. Jon’s face grew peaceful and his breath evened in his chest.

 

It was in that moment that Patrick’s will grew resolute. He couldn’t let Jonny be taken by the English and he wouldn’t put his family at risk. He’d save all of them. He waited until Jonathan was in a deep sleep and then crawled back out of bed. It was in the Kanes' blood to plan and scheme and God help him but he would raise hell before he let Jonathan leave his side. 

 

 


End file.
